


"See the rain is nice..."

by DaWolfyDaWolf



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Dream Smp, Heavy Angst, Mentioned famous creators, Pain, Please read notes!, The Festival, Video title fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaWolfyDaWolf/pseuds/DaWolfyDaWolf
Summary: In the midst of his mistakes, Technoblade has to suffer the outcomes of his actions and his fear.Oh, Icarus, won’t you come down?=================After the Festival Massacre.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, cause ew
Comments: 24
Kudos: 153





	"See the rain is nice..."

**Author's Note:**

> Please be cautious!  
> This fan-fiction contains heavy themes of violence, blood, murder and mental health issues!
> 
> PLEASE CONTINUE AT OWN RISK!

#  _ “See the rain is nice…” _

Blood flew through the air, before falling in heavy thuds on the ground, where the day’s rain mixed with the violent red liquid upon the dirtied and destroyed grass. The blood’s owner fell to the floor quickly, their last breath of air leaving as they hit the ground and creating a waterfall surrounding every last one of their wounds.

Draped in the finest of robes, the warrior grabbed a handkerchief stored in his pocket and ran it up the blade, wiping off the remains of his fallen opponent. The warrior frowned at the rag, wondering how long it would take to clean and if he needed to buy a new one. He’d hate to kill anyone through getting diseased by hepatitis, it wasn’t as fun. 

Twirling to the next person, who also stupidly ran towards the warrior, swinging a poorly handled sword in their hands and trying to attack the Blood God. The warrior grinned, dodging out a poorly planned attempt, knowing full well he could have ended the fight then and there, but he wanted to have some fun.

A simple hit, and he was down.

Another one came and another left. Again, again and again.

Oh, the blood kept coming.

Technoblade turned away from the bodies, letting the rain wash away the blood and relished in another victory.

#  _ “but... I don’t really like getting wet.” _

He stood in front of the much younger boy, a drum going off in his chest. Beside him stood a ram-horned man, his lucifer like beard covered in the remarents of his loud speeches and threats. A hand upon his shoulder guiding him to the spot in front of the boy, firm and rough the hand controlled the very steps Techno took.

Eyes hit the back of Techno’s head and the feeling of fear sunk into his body.

The boy,  _ oh _ the boy. His eyes flickered from Techno’s face to a distance far away, his communicator in hand. Techno’s twin and younger brother must be standing behind him, telling the boy a reassurance of allyship. However, Techno knew if he didn’t load his crossbow, if he didn’t raise the weapon and if he didn’t pull the trigger, there would be ten arrows hitting him in the back.

Schlatt was yelling at him.

He didn’t… He didn’t want to die… He had so many things he wanted to do…

Hands shaking, he took the rocket from the bag hanging by his hip, filled to the brim with potions, gapples and more rockets. Techno always knew when to be prepared.

“Tech- Technoblade?” the boy whimpered, pushing against the back of the black throne, the back of it shaped into the horns of its owner. 

The arm holding the rose up, a trail of smoke coming from the burning end of the rocket’s wick, a couple of seconds away from Techno losing an arm. A finger hovered over the trigger.

_ ‘Is someone screaming? _ ’ Techno’s thoughts dumped on him, the exciting back part of his brain started grinning at the thought of murder. A part of his mind that he believed was to be dead and buried in the deep memories of love and affection from his family.

The eyes were back. If he didn’t do this, he’d die.

Techno just wanted to see his oldest brother again. 

“Tubbo-” Techno swallowed, his voice wavering as he spoke, an evil laugh shifting into the surroundings to the side of Techno, “- Tubbo. I’m sorry.”

God, the boy’s eyes. How can they be so wide? Techno had to kill him, not wanting to give him a hug. The voice in the back of his head whispered again. A feeling came back with it, the time where the sound of blood dampening the floor would make him feel alive. This feeling had been an addiction of his.

Oh, Icarus, won’t you come down? 

“I will make it as painless and as colourful as possible.”

The firework exploded.

#  _ “What in the world?” _

A flow of blood lust ran through his veins, the dark part of his brain filtering out the shrieking sound of his younger brother behind him. Gasping, a laugh escaped from his lungs and filling the air around him, reminding Techno of a time where he murdered for fun. Turning around towards, Techno’s eyes saw red, nothing but red.

His body moved by itself, despite the anguish his heart felt, raising the arm with the crossbow in, the trigger had been pushed. Smells of igniting gunpowder ran into Techno’s nose, explosions of blue, red and white made the sky burst in colour.

Screams rekted the air, sparks set tufts of grass alight, blood stained the floor and all Techno did was watch.

Some of the sparks flew into his face, burning him in random spots.

Oh, how he lived for chaos.

Techno just laughed.

#  _ “No, I went under the yearning”  _

Tommy had his back turned to Techno as the group strolled back to the ravine they called their base of operations, his anger rolling off him and hitting Niki with a blast of fear and anxiety. Wilbur, of course, didn’t notice a thing. 

The rest of the journey was filled with the crazed man's voice and the quiet breaths from the lady's fear at his words.

Once down in the suffocation of Pogtopia, the four were tense from the events that had taken place, the tension in the air was intoxicating.

Eventually, the youngest had turned back to his second brother. Like a knife, Tommy's voice cut into Techno, "Why did you kill Tubbo?”

"I was peer pressured, Tommy, I'm sorry," Techno's words fumbled to his defence. His former greatest defender, now his weakness. 

A force pushed against Techno’s chest, causing him to fall into a large hole behind him, releasing the air out of his lungs and letting his tailbone become numb. Looking up, Tommy stood at the top of the pit, tears streaming from his eyes. Techno’s heart broke.

_ He should’ve died instead. _

“Throw the first punch, Tommy,” Wilbur’s Cheshire cat shining grin came from the gloomy torch light of the pit, creepily staring into the Techno’s little brother’s soul and coaxing Tommy to do his bidding.

Below him, Techno’s stoic emotions broke through the protective barrier of normality, making everything in the world fade into a dull grey colour.

Oh… 

"I didn't have a choice."

Despite saying he wouldn't follow Wilbur's crazed antics, Tommy threw the first punch but didn’t close his fist properly so his nail cut into Techno’s skin.

The cut scarred. 

#  _ “It’s still raining…” _

“‘Technoblade’, or as your birth name states, Techno Pandel-Blade, you stand accused of ambicide and wounding with intent without being within a fighting game, how do you plead?”

Techno stands in front of six court members of the highest level in the MC Lands, each from a different sector, each extremely knowledgeable in their respective fields. Appointed by Notch himself, as long as they submit an application. All six sat across from him on a long table, notes covering their table of Techno’s wrong doings and victories.

Usually there were seven, but one had to be removed as his personal interests clouded his judgement on Techno. In hindsight, Techno wished Phil was at least allowed in the room.

So there in front of him, sat Ssundee, DanTDM, AntVenom, AmyLee, and in the centre of it all, CaptainSparklez.

“Not-guilty.” Technoblade spoke into the microphone, trying to ignore the angry gasps from the reporters behind him and the silent groan from the back of his head. In the corner of his blue eyes, within the shadows, a green hoodie poked out of the corner and a gleam of a white smiling mask haunted him.

A harsh chuckle broke through the protests, from the judges, Ssundee to be exact, “Did this man say  _ not _ guilty?”

Techno swallowed and took a deep breath before the monotone washed over, “I did.”

“So,” the Captain began, fiddling with his own crown resting upon his head, as Techno’s was sat on a table a few feet away, “You didn’t commit homicide against the late Tubbo Score?”

“I did, but—” Techno started, getting cut off before he could spout out his defence.

“And you did not harm over eight of the audience members, eight of your friends,” Captain snided, his gaze hard upon Techno’s stoic face.

Techno wanted to scream, “I did, however—”

“A person who has to say disregard the offences he has committed with a ‘but’ or ‘however’ are not the kind of people we trust here, Mr Pandel,” Ant said, yet again another court member interrupting Techno. The courtman’s burning brown irises glared daggers into Techno’s own blue eyes, the knot in the accused’s stomach unravelling as he took another breath.

“Before my crossbow released the firework,” Techno began, “Schlatt forced me to stand in front of the boy, yelling at me to kill him. If I didn’t, I would have been shot by the multiple armoured people behind me.” He was defending himself, he didn’t have a choice.

Behind the desk, Ssundee spoke out, “We are well aware of your issues with social interactions, Mr. Pandel. However, we are not asking who shot the gun, we’re asking who let the gun in the hands of the killer.”

Lowest of blows, one that caused Techno to tighten his fingers into a clench around his thumb. In the shadows, he saw Dream shift his weight onto the other leg. All Techno could think was, ‘ _ I see.’ _

From then on, the court people asked Techno their questions, about the day, why he had fireworks in the first place, what the peer pressure felt like, and, the most painful of all, his reaction to his twin brother’s death. That topic and it’s answers led to an uneasy silence throughout the court, reminding everyone of the true reason to fight. The reason being having something to protect and love.

Ten minutes of questions led to thirty, draining Techno even more and more of hope of being heard. The questions weren’t biased, they were calm and factual. When the court members asked him questions, they let Techno explain what happened and then proceeded to almost pop quiz him on his answers. Balanced. 

“Please bring to the stand Dream,” AmyLee said, her high pitched voice serious and unnervingly absent of kindness. Fully turning to look at his  _ rival _ , Techno calculated the ins and outs of Dream’s knowledge of the events that had taken place, ignoring the pain starting to erupt from the hard grip.

“Now, Dream,” Cp. Sparkles addressed, “after discussing the idea of Mr. Pandel’s punishment and then leaving you to think through the options. Could you now state your ideas.”

Unsurprising that Dream had been asked to come here, especially to roll the dice that would decide Techno’s inevitable lonely fate. 

“What do you suggest, Dream?”

“He cannot go into a prison, no matter what it is made of, he is the most intelligent person in this room, he will play the long game.” 

“The court of Minecraft hereby states that Techno Pandel-Blade shall be sentenced for the rest of his life in exile. He is to have no visitors and no means of contact to the outside world. This banishment will commence after the funerals of Wilbur Pandel-Soot and Tubbo Score, however, from here till then, Dream shall be in charge of Techno’s restraint and housing. Any objections?”

Oh, how the silence spoke its cruel words, the unfavorable idea of the pain a man has to go through in order to be, in the eyes of the jury, justified within society.

A bang from a wooden hammer hitting a desk, the deserved appalled and hissing words attacking the guilty, disallowing them any chance of being remade into society. Blurring eyes of reality, the ostracised man did not feel the way two handcuffs wrapped around his wrists, only hearing the outrage of the watchers.

“He’s not one of us,” hissed one of them as he passed them through the middle of the rows of seats, a former friend now enemy, does Nestorio think he is guilty as well.

His ears seemed to focus on a conversation in the corner, a group of gossiping friends, who pointed and yapped, “Do you see that scar on his face? It’s so ugly!”

The door of the courtroom opened, flashes of cameras burnt his eyes, yelling voices from paparazzi removing the humanity of the situation; making it a scene of news articles and need to be on top of the journalism trade. 

Two brothers cry out to the exiled as he walks past, his eyes barely noticing the bright red shirt or the tear stricken pairs of blue eyes whose owners stood in front of him, grabbing him by the arms and screaming at him to not leave like his twin did.

#  _ “Why is it still raining? I did what I had to.” _

The funerals were quiet, starting at the edge of the forests just outside of L'Manberg, where the bees collected pollen and birds sang upon the branches, their tunes carrying along the air. Multiple flags lay dismally over their respectful bodies as shrouds.

Two deaths and two murderers.

Their deaths were a scar, a reminder of the true darkest point in history of the country. 

One had died from the pressure of the devil’s whispers on the killer’s shoulders. The killed's innocent eyes gleamed with the fear of his ally before him, who had promised to deal the blow as quick as possible.

One had turned his back to the entrance, a crossbow aimed to the back of his head and the click of a trigger. An angry former president's threats ending with his body lying upon the ground and a ram-horned man standing above him.

A best friend's broken screams had rung through the air.

In a quiet agreement, survivors knew that wearing black would just be as disrespectful as dancing on their graves, so some had put on their former blue and gold uniforms, stored away in the back of their wardrobes. L'Mambergians wear their uniform. 

Whilst those who didn't have one, dressed up in blue and gold clothes, but not suits. No more suits.

Everyone had turned up, everyone had come to mourn, everyone travelled across worlds to come to the funeral, to say goodbye to the song writer and the joy.

A group of devastated friends, who all hailed from the same orphanage, the same fiery remainder house, had arrived first, hugging the youngest brother and apologising to the oldest. Their faces aging backwards to the ones that had been covered in soot as teenagers.

A group of adolescent friends, the same ones that had played with the joy and the youngest son for hours on end in a world in the skies. Amongst them, faded friendships rekindled, laughs were shared and tears were shed.

A group of horrified friends were one of the last to arrive, swallowing as they looked towards the oldest and the youngest brother. Guilty consciousness plaguing each of their minds, asking each other silently how the ram could have done it. All wondering how their friend could do the things they heard. 

People stood scattered in a circle around the bodies, standing in clumps of tears and memory, holding hands and hugging arms.

Once, when the silence had settled, he was finally able to join them.

Chinks of screeching metal flung into the funeral goers ears, making most turn to the racket before gasping. 

A green tyrant, who, despite being the true puppeteer, was allowed to have both his axe and sword at his side as a precaution at the funeral. His hand steady on the hilt as he roughly tugged a netherite chain forward, and under his mask, his green eyes studied the faces of the funeral goers.

Behind him, a chained warrior grunted in pain, barely audible with the muzzle personally moulded around his head and face, leaving only a small slit through the magically empowered netherite for him to see. A crown carved in the top of the helm in a wild sense of mockery.

Over his scarred hands, two gauntlet-like handcuffs were fused together, connected to the leg cuffs that dragged him down. 

Even Techno's wouldn't recognise him in the dark cell clothes they forced him to dress in, but given that it was a funeral, they wanted to dress him a lot nicer. His cloak that he would normally be allowed to wear had been hung up in a glass frame inside Dream's office, so they gave him a knock off version for his own brother's funeral, saying no one knew the difference.

Techno, after finally being shoved into position next to Dream, stared at the five flags that Wilbur's corpse had draped across it, a reminder of his connections and past. A twisting feeling appeared into his guts, the pang of despair as he watched the flags shift in the breeze.

One flag for L'Mamberg, the blues and whites shining compared to the cloudy day of weather.

One, quite ironically, for a time long ago, when continents had been colonised and empires created and fell with battles, friendships forged and forever enemies made.

One with a small house drawn on it, covered in handprints of hopeful teenagers, who now sat in the crowd of the funeral goers.

One that had a giant camera, sixty-five names scribbled in various sizes all over the banner, ironically, the name of Wilbur's killer being bigger than the rest. A memory of a peaceful time.

And the last had the crest of Wilbur's family on it, a lonely orca surrounded in yellow by itself in a quarter of the crest.

Feeling eyes hit the back of his head, Techno desperately wanted to turn and meet the faces but moving hurt his body. All he could do was stare at the covered corpses, wondering who had been staring at him or how much he wanted to hug his deceased friend.

His twin, his brother, his closest companion and the only one to truly match his thoughts was dead. Murdered by a man he called a friend, murdered by someone who had puppeteered Techno into killing his little brother’s best friend.

Techno’s eyes travelled away from the deceased brother and towards the living one, Tommy, whose head seemed to be permanently looking anywhere but the shrouds, instead his blue eyes dully gazed over at the barren country of L’Manberg.

Next to Tommy, stood the oldest brother with his wife standing by his side. Given any other day, Techno would have probably gone over and said hello to his sister in law, as he found the women a wonderful pleasure to be around. But today, and mostly the days afterwards, would not be a good time. 

His eyes met the survivor, a battle of caesious meeting the sky, a longing for a simpler time shone between the two. But simpler times were hard to come by no matter who you were as each year a new set of memories were created, and the old ones, the really good ones, faded from view.

The eulogies had been too quick, spoken in a hurry by Fundy and Eret, a pair of traitors of different times. The son broke down halfway through it all, his stutters of needing to keep composure destroyed itself as he said his final goodbyes. The king did not seem to break, but allowed the tears to flow down his cheeks, wishing the best for the gone.

Smoke filled the sky as the youngest and the oldest brothers burnt the shrouds. 

After the funeral, Dream had turned to Techno, hoping he would just comply and let himself be sent back into the cell, but Techno was switched to a stone version, one that moved for no man. The statue, it seemed, still had a conscience as he sunk to the floor upon his knees before his twin’s dying fire. 

Oh, how it was not just two fires that would be burned out before the night had begun, but three.

#  _ “That’s not fair.”  _

He sat, lonely, under a tree next to a field of his dedication, where days that could have been spent with his family were instead taken by the need to prove himself. The crown of hubris resting neatly on the ground next to him, unkept and withered at the edges, reminding its owner of a time far beyond itself. A time that had been half a decade ago.

Next to the field, there was a plain of grass and flowers, formally cut to the inch by the former gardener, who had left the second year in. The furthest side of the plain from the fields, where rocks started sprouting out of the ground and remnants of bird nests rested, there was an edge. 

Over the edge, there was a cliff and the bottom of the cliff there was a stretching far ocean. Secluding Techno from the outside world even more than before, an added touch by the tyrant. The horizon was a split of dark sea green blue and the light blue of a summer’s day.

Under the shade of the tree, Techno leant against the trunk, his body too tired to get up and walk to the small bungalow that Techno’s bed and multiple spare tools lay covered in dust. Normally, one would have used most of those tools in the five years, but Techno stopped trying to pretend to care three years ago.

So there he sat, alone, next to the field of potatoes he would have been proud of those many years ago. Alone in the world, his broken soul missing the better half of him. Or so he thought.

“Techno?”

If he had been five years happier, Techno would have a knife to the intruder’s throat but he couldn’t care less. He didn’t even turn his head, just continued staring across the field, his long tangled hair covering his face from the person behind him to his left.

A shuffle of feet and crunch of grass, a body sat next to him, looking towards the long columns of plants as well.

"Hey, mate," Phil’s voice ached the small part of Techno’s heart he had left, wanting him to try and hug the man, but he was so damn tired. When Techno didn’t reply to him, Phil asked in a hesitant voice, “Can you talk?

Instead, Techno moved his head to face Phil. In the years past, Phil’s hair had seemed to grow with no need for him to cut it, the half beard on his chin exemplified the theory as well. The blues of his eyes were extremely tired, from decades of worrying about his younger brother, a forever frown gracing his lips. Around the edges of his eyes, his thirty eight years old skin crinkled, giving his already intelligent mind a face of wisdom to company it. Mouth hanging open and eyes wide, Phil gasped.

“How long have you had the muzzle on?”

Techno forgot about that.

Years ago, Dream had been kind enough to remove the netherrite chains and gauntlets that Techno was wrapped up in, but the tyrant was cruel as well. So Techno spent five years wearing the muzzle, finding it hard to breath when he worked hard, the slit of his eyes needing to be cleaned every once in a while. 

Luckily for him, Techno found a way, after a bad day of screaming his head off at his own thoughts, to remove the part that was covering his hair, letting the formally dyed pink hair fall from the back of his head.

So lifting a fatigued hand, he showed his whole hand to Phil, his fingers straining with the effort. Watching Phil, Techno saw the utmost shock that screamed in his eyes, flashing dangerously quick to anger then into a deep dark colour of pity. 

Two hands reached up, connecting to the sides of the mask-like object. Techno flinched at the contact, removed from the feeling or idea but let Phil continue to move his hand around his head and untie the useless strap. 

Phil stuck his fingers under the edges of the mask that had merged with the skin and pulled.

Pain.

“Sorry!” Phil hissed, Techno unaware that he was whining.

As if by chance, a spike of metal ripped out of the broken skin it had been embedded to, leaving more and more pain. “Don’t worry, almost done” 

Finally the mask was off, lying a few feet away from the pair, dripping with the remains of untouched-by-sunlight skin and Phil adding drops of healing potion on the cut areas, trying to ignore the long white dash across his younger brother’s cheek and small burn scars that were dotted like freckles.

Techno’s skin was deathly pale, his eyes had sunked into his school and his face had turned from sharp edges of jawline and strong muscles to being pressed against his sulk.

Once they were settled, the two sat down and watched as small magically puppets ran across the field, pulling potatoes from the ground before replanting them. 

The stuffed creatures leather leather for skin had moulded and there were many lost button eyes, from months of untended needs becoming overbearing. Some lay in piles, lying on top of each other, no longer able to work. Depressing.

Quiet swept across the plain, only the tree swishing from left to right in the cool breeze giving off sound, and the pair under the tree relaxed, unsure of what to say to the other. Or, in Phil’s case, if the other could reply. As they sat, Techno let his head drop onto his oldest brother’s comfortable shoulder, eyes half closed, so ready to sleep.

Oh, how Techno wanted to rest.

“Are you tired Techno?” Phil eventually asked, shifting so he could grab Techno’s skeletal hands, ignoring the burn marks on his fingers, from when a firework got to close.

Techno nodded, leaning further into Phil, sinking deeper into bliss.

Instead of trying to wake Techno to take him to his house, Phil shed some good news, “Tommy has gotten better, he smiles more, he goes outside with Deo again, but never for too long.”

A satisfied but exhausted hum had been Phil’s reply, making his heart clench in pain, “he forgave you a long time ago, we both did.”

Silence, the kind you hear from the extreme relief of bottled up emotions finally breaking the dam, flooding the city of bad memories and clearing them away.

“You can sleep, you know?” Phil whispered, using his index finger to draw circles repeatedly in Techno’s palm, “I will be here when you wake up.” Techno whined, trying to lean back up after hearing his brother’s silent plea. Only to be pulled back into a pair of warm arms.

Comfortable.

“It’s okay Techno, mate, I’ll say goodbye to Tommy for you, as long as you say hello to Wilbur for me.” A choking voice murmured, full of the human kindness one would give to someone on their deathbed, so full of the brotherly affection Techno used to have and so full of the love you show to a friend, “I will always love you.”

Techno’s eyes finally closed, the sounds of the tree’s leaves above him fading out from sense, replaced by the soft strumming of a twin’s guitar. A soft strumming he used to hear at four in the morning, in a shared bedroom when two halves of one soul leant against one another in an extremely cushioned bed.

Oh, how he has missed the other half.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> For those who have seen my earlier works, (15th September, 1916 & Victory) will be pleased to hear I will be starting a series! It will centre the Sleepy Boy Inc family and will be around the time of the duel in my very own universe!
> 
> Follow me on twitter; @devotedlyquack for retweets of funny posts, arts and replies to friends being fools.


End file.
